


Shelter

by brimfulofasher



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 17:54:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20457050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brimfulofasher/pseuds/brimfulofasher
Summary: It's hard to catch a break for a Warden on the run.





	Shelter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sundogsandrainbows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundogsandrainbows/gifts).

In hindsight, stumbling into a cavern with an ominous skull painted by the door probably isn't his brightest idea; desperation and fatigue leading him to what seems like sanctuary from the misery of another cold night in the rain. 

He soon realises his mistake when he finds a blade pressed against his throat the second he steps through the doorway.

"Would you believe I took a wrong turn looking for the inn?" He says, offering a wan smile.

The edge of the blade is turned slightly, just enough to offer a further warning, his stomach twisting sickly when the eyes on him drop to his chest, narrowing in recognition at the griffons emblazoned on the plate before flicking back up to his face. A cruel smirk hooks into the other man's cheek while his burn despite himself.

"We've seen others like you. Said they were looking for someone..."

The thinly veiled threat is drowned out by the song buzzing angrily in the back of his skull where it pulses, making him grit his teeth and screw his eyes shut in a bid to ward it away. Unthinking, he grasps the pommel of his sword to ground himself and the spell is quickly broken by the din of sudden shouting and drawing of weapons. 

"So, no chance of a pint then?" He calls out, throwing off the first man who makes to slash at him. It's a blur of blood and fury, the frustration of his own Order's betrayal set in every move he makes.

It doesn't take long for those still standing to yield, pulling the fallen up into their arms and out of the cave while promising it won't be the last he'll see of them. He gets the feeling the threat is a hollow one but still makes a point of barricading the door before sliding down to the ground with a grunt, head in his hands.

He's getting too old for this. Or at least that's how it feels; days blurring into weeks, hunted by the very people he thought his comrades and forced into the shadows. It hurts, more than the chill that seeps into his bones in this dank hole, more than the ache of hunger clawing at his stomach.

It hurts, to feel like he's losing the one home, the one family he ever chose for himself and there's nothing he can do but watch it crumble around him. 

Drawing his hands down his face, he reaches out for his pack and roots around in it for his canteen- or something stronger; his jaw is still smarting from a particularly dirty punch earlier. But instead his fingers close around a bundle of letters and against his better judgement, he pulls them out.

He reads them. One by one, a smile begins to form on his lips and at the last, he's laughing. Yes, it's agony being apart and by this point he's in two minds about leaving the sorry bastards to themselves just so he can hear her tell that particular joke in person because he knows she'll be splitting at the seams trying to hold in her own laughter before she can get it out and then it'll set _ him _ off…

But it's enough. The burden feels less, knowing he's carrying even a small part of her with him. Pressing a kiss to the letters, he carefully stows them back away and replaces them with his maps. He's got work to do.


End file.
